Stevie was at her grovelly best last night, twirling and sauntering around the stage with the rest of whatever that band is. Beachwood something or other? Looking like a confused bag lady banging her tambourine, wandering from post to post on the stage and leaning on the mic like it was a parking meter. She was everything one could have hoped for. I don’t know if she found me, but I could see her scanning the top row of section 203 out from under her top hat to try to sing directly to me. Oh Stevie, you tried.
Meanwhile, the rest of section 203 looked like a PTA torture session. One middle-aged woman sat rocking in her chair with her knees against her chest for an hour like she just watched the entire cast of Dancing With the Stars get gunned down. Another woman in mom jeans and perhaps no bra repeated a dance move that looked like a cross between an inflatable flailing arm man and a person with their arms tied to the ceiling while they’re whacked with a bamboo stick. I think she may have tried to “pan for gold” during Gold Dust Woman.
Me, I just nodded in thorough approval. Great show indeed, Stevie. Great show indeed.
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